


Chesstuck

by LastNameATree



Category: Homestuck, Homestuck Epilogues, Homestuck2 - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, References to Depression, Slurs, self-actualization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNameATree/pseuds/LastNameATree
Summary: During their course for a new world to build from the ground up, Rose introspects over a board of chess, before getting interrupted for a game that leads her into a fight of mind and skill... and angst.Theseus is an empty vessel stuck in space, moving for a new origin. Within it, three hermits try to impose their sick mind-tricks on one another.AKA two lesbians crying over their missing partners, while Dirk watches.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde & Dirk Strider, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Rose Lalonde/Terezi Pyrope, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket
Kudos: 5





	1. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to "We're finally landing" by Home for the beats to write angst/photoshop countless images and gifs to.

_Space. An introspective mistress. Through woes beholden inside a steel carapace, how could such a small ship ever expand its warmth and blow life into an empty world with the same tenacity a star could? The cold, begotten expanse of the ever-raging cosmos. A dream, a worthwhile task, and a game to sustain it all._

The eggs, the tadpole, the polliwog, froglet, universe, existence, possibility, purpose, and motivation. All pieces to ponder upon. But consider instead the actors inundated with the power to influence these words, and a course set to enact them. Conceived here and now within these pages. A beginning in the making, as much a myth as any world before them, through the psyche of their will.

===> Rose: Set the pieces

The darkened sheen of the checkered board shone its smooth path of steps from either side of the field of battle. The mosaic squares styled their adjunct hues. The pieces were immaculate, rounding at the base, then spindling off into thorny wisps of jagged protrusions. Each set was made garish but unique. They rose, released from tight alcoves in a darkened wooden lockbox. An unctuous, East Indian rosewood, a tinge of violently violet in its ridges for the black pieces, and a crisp ash wood, paling golden livery embossments for the white.

Rose modeled them herself, of course. A thirst of grave significance when sending these sharp-angled horror terrors to their own flagellated pits of void from the board and onto the coffee table.

Alone in the depths of Theseus, she plucked them out with a skilled but playful hand, careful not to prick her slight violinist fingers against the devilish horns of the king and queen. Rose reveled in these motions, pursuing the traditionalist merit of her ceremonies. As much a game as the game itself, but more so her choice of location bidden in the ship she now called home. Locked in her tight quarters, Lalonde sat in nothing but the light of the passing nebulae on her viewing platform. Theseus glided past a mass of stars light-years away, the constellations completely foreign from this axis in the universe.

Rose had gotten used to staying in her lounge, alone from the prying eyes of her paradoxical father. If Dirk were to approach in strife, her own conviction in these surrounding memorabilia would keep their debates leveled. If she felt secure, Rose could bounce back from whatever Strider was planning. He knew how to disassociate her personality from her ultimate form. With an instinct of self-preservation, she chose to struggle against that separation, just through the pure fact that Rose trusted her own will more than any other. No use in disagreeing with that part; he probably thought the same. Their tension reminded Rose of the friction between two atoms. Necessary for life to function, but volatile and chaotic just the same. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried anything in a while.

His brand of pissing on her interests through cynical and meaningless diatribes would often keep her in a state of unrest and fatigue. This feeling was tied to him, somehow, but Rose had made the choice to stay willingly enough. However trite and played out both chess and her fascination with the grimdark was a way of grounding herself. Dirk wouldn’t see it that way, but nor should she care. Rose just needed to cling on, not knowing why, but having made a promise to do so.

It was part of her rhythm in these long voyages. The dreary day-less hours of Paradox space were less exciting than any prospects of a glorious destination could ever staunch. It was important to keep one's mind active in these sorts of situations. On their ill-patchworked plans to resuscitate canonicity, any loss of bodily autonomy had proved detrimental in previous ventures. She hadn’t touched liquor ever since her three-year journey on the Meteor, and its failure in a scale only a complete overhaul could restore meant she would not make that mistake again.

The lack of acclamation when flying recklessly apart from the day/night cycle was easily undervalued after leaving Earth C. Fighting against it was a common occurrence now. Rose would often forget herself and lay for hours, reading, writing until time itself kept count only in the words crossing her ever-expanding vocabulary. Finding a way to keep a steady rhythm was, therefore, quite necessary.

It was a different journey this time. The halls were quiet, and the atmosphere was grave and serious. In as much as Dirk’s own shift of power for posterity in canonicity, the whole ordeal they were attempting was the most disheartening act of betrayal Rose had ever been a part of. If it weren’t for Dirk saving her collapsing mind from the brink of implosion through its own ultimate actualization, she would have, in all her fiber of being, mauled the head off his shoulders with her own delicate hands. Her ultimate form had taken that passion away and shifted her focus to the state of the world itself.

Chess was a distraction, an exercise to keep her mind active after her own literary intrigues wound themselves up into a psychoanalytical clusterfuck she could no longer keep track of herself.

She set the pieces, one by one, on their respective stations, mirroring both sides until they peered at one another with a menacing thirst for wooden violence. There were no abstractions in chess. All was preordained and given equal sway; exactly what made Rose so confident in her skill with the game.

The board frame chiseled down into right angles. It encompassed the sixty-four-set permutation of side-to-side squares precisely wide enough to house its units. She took heed in noting the tenacity of such a small field. It was all so clear when laid out in front of her; a manifestation of tactical wit and learned insight.

The state of chess, in its most primordial form, was so clinically bereft of the true passions of war that had clouded Rose’s own foray in life within the Medium. She would have if it were only that simple, sought in her demurral existence a strife where an analogous wooden world bent against its own ingrained seams, where a fine craftsperson, a demiurge of “the game of life” derived a more quantitative struggle, put far aside from the frivolities of friendship, hate, concupiscence and even love. It was precisely because of this thought that Rose had joined Dirk’s journey in world-crafting in the first place. A way to correct the mistakes Skaia was too maternal to muster. A clear but, this time, ultimately victorious conclusion of the timeless struggle between Prospit and Derse before four meddling children had screwed the pooch with their angsty wiles and questing for made up self-revelations. A life that lead her to Kanaya was meaningless for her now. It was meaningless for truth, but it was there, nonetheless. A promise kept.

There was a beauty in chess, unlike her human bonds. It occurred of its own merit. No wars declared; no lords toppled, no hearts broken or ties cut. A single goal of pining the enemy with a swift and decisive flurry of tactical foresight. She, as well as Dirk, to a stranger extent, was destined for this. Not through the insular guessing-games of the would-be gods of Padadox space but through their own heightened ultimate forms. Her aspect was reality itself, the truth of the world and all its miss begotten makings. It was her Seer class that would perceive what could lay beyond it, beyond canon and into a future she would bring into existence.

The psychological element was the core of it all, however. The true personal center, the heart of her match with both chess and reality. While the pieces were moved on their respective squares, the real game occurred within the psyche of the players, in a cloud of psychoanalytical tumult which, if probed, engendered you with a sense of how, exactly, the opponent intended to go about this fight. It was a fight against the stagnant process of a world too eager to expend children as cattled fuel. And it was beginning to rip apart her team with a dreaded silence only space itself could bare.

“A shallow roleplay of introspection. I’d think it beneath you, Rose. Like reading Tarot cards or some other such dubious nonsense. You’ve played yourself,”  Dirk had chided her.

Declining an invitation to prove his wit on the board itself, he circled the conversation into what amounted to a lecture she wouldn’t have expected would ever be directed at her.

“Chess is just another one of your abstractions from the purest form of dialectic combat. It weakens you through distilled pantomimes, Rose. You have the opportunity to manifest reality itself, bring about a path for us to extend a better functioning universe. Yet, you end up arguing with your own duality. C’mon, sis, work with me here.” 

He was a sort of a cunt like that sometimes. More so as of late. It turned her spite into a reason to carry on regardless of his paternal debasement. She often considered whether this was the true reason she had joined him. Had he held her captive by offering a way to challenge her own beliefs? Had she been too spiteful to refuse? No, what was done was done, and she had only to move forward.

“What are you doing here, Pyrope?”  Rose asked, folding her arms back into the present picture.

“1’M NOT GO1NG TO P4SS UP 4 M34L PR3S3NT3D TO M3 SO 3LOQU3NTLY, L4LOND3,”  Terezi replied. She slouched, inhaling tendrils of the ashen pieces forming her vision of the pool of units on her side of the board. An enigma of a person, both through species and character, a Seer much like Rose herself, only more deceptive in her aspect. The third and final member of their crew. How had she sneaked up on her?

Terezi made no noise when breaking into her sanctum. There was no play to it, no intrigue that Rose had come accustomed to from Dirk. His opening monologues were like a jaded orange carpet rolling to her feet, inviting the prince in for all to gander at. Terezi was more pragmatic.

“You’ve never joined me in chess before,”  Rose said,  “I assumed you weren’t inclined to play these sorts of games, what with your permanent state of brooding and all.” 

Terezi was the specter of the ship. Her mind kept personal, leading the other two shipmates into a brawling conspiracy of what to make of their stowaway.

“1T’S 4LW4YS FUNNY TO S33 YOU R3V34L YOUR OWN 1NS3CUR1T13S WH1L3 PROB1NG TH3M DOWN OTH3R'S CH1T1NOUS W1NDHOL3S. WH4T’S TH4T DUMB HUM4N PHR4S3 OF YOURS? S33 4 SPL1NT3R 1N 4N 4NOTH3R'S B3FOR3 NOT1C1NG TH3 LOG 1N YOUR OWN G4ND3RBULB?”  she prodded, scratching at her monochrome eyes.

“It would be a valid criticism if you hadn’t been the one who spent this entire journey hopping air vents whenever I or Dirk came to see if you ever ate... well, anything, really.” 

Terezi yawned, splaying her limbs in a stretch, cracking various anatomically alien tendons under her minute form.  “1 ONLY 34T WH3N 1’M NOT B4RR4G3D BY TWO ODOROUS HOMUNCUL1. YOU’V3 PR4CT1C4LLY MORPH3D 1NTO 4 S1NGL3, 4MORPHOUS GRUB GOO, ONLY TO B4SH YOUR H34DS 1N FROM YOUR OWN LOUD F33DB4CK LOOP,”  she said.

Terezi grazed the tip of her index finger over the sharp tangles forming the white queen's wreath. It drew a tiny drop of blood. The round globule of teal accented golden swirls draping the queen's horns. For a brief moment, it swayed and balanced atop the piece under tension before gently trickling down the side of her spine. She picked it up, lathing her dripping maw on one of the ornamental jags. The blood didn’t seem to alarm her.

“I was intending to practice for a while, but I wouldn’t mind playing with an old acquaintance. Regardless if she perceives me as a predator, apprehensively growling when I stroll too near her sustenance.” 

“OH, NOT 4T 4LL,”  she spoke, engrossed in the pieces,  “3V3RY T1M3 YOUR M14SM4 OF L4V3ND3R 3CC3NTR1C1T13S CROSS MY OLF4CTORY, 1 G3T R4V3NOUS. WOULDN’T B3 K1ND TO SP1LL 4LL TH4T PURPL3 G4RB ONLY TO G3T 4 BR13F WH1FF OF MUT4NT R3D C4ND13D 1NS1D3S. 1’M SUR3 YOU C4N R3L4T3.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,”  Rose said calmly, eyes fixated on the woman before her.

“TRUST M3, L4LOND3, 1 LOV3 TH3S3 G4M3S W3 PL4Y 4S MUCH 4S TH3 N3XT G1RL,”  she continued,  “W41T, 4CTU4LLY, 1 C4N’T ST4ND TH3M, BUT 1 C4M3 H3R3 TO CH4T. G4M3S 4ND G4R1SH COLOURS H4PP3N TO B3 4 W34KN3SS OF M1N3.” 

She was clear on that front, both physically and in her bluntness to the approach. Her true reason for being here, though, was still hidden in between the lines. The troll was never emboldened by the Strider family’s intentions, but she was apathetic compared to their other friends. The reason for her joining them was still up in the air. It was a chance for Rose to gain some leverage over Dirk, so she took it.

“Then let’s cut the fat and play for it. I find it a lot more productive when a conversation inherits a directed sharpness aligned with a game of focus,”  Rose said.

“TH4T’S R34LLY CR33PY 4ND 3XC3PT1ON4LLY D3L1R1OUS OF YOU TO S4Y.” 

“I’ve set the pieces, I’m bored and you’re clearly up to something.” 

“DO3S 1T JUST SO H4PP3N TH4T TH3 STR1D3R G3N3 1S SO4K3D 1N G3N3R4L1Z3D 4NX13TY OR DO YOU G3T TH4T FROM B31NG 4 HUM4N?” 

“You’ve been evading me for weeks now, why the sudden change of behavior?” 

“QU3ST1ON ST4NDS. 1’LL PL4Y YOUR G4M3 1F YOU PL4Y M1N3. S4Y TH3 C4RGO B4Y R4N OUT OF D3L1C1OUSLY COLOR3D HORNL3SS P3OPL3, 4ND 1 H4PP3N3D TO B3 1N TH3 4R34 WH3N YOU S3T TH3S3 F1GUR1N3S OUT. 1 C4M3 1N, NOT C4R1NG 1F YOUR SCRUT1NY 1NT3RN4L1Z3D M3 4S SOM3 H4LF-B4K3D PR4NC1NG PUPP3T. 1’V3 COM3 TO 4 PO1NT WH3R3 C4R1NG 4BOUT WH4T YOU’R3 UP TO 1S 4 M4TT3R OF L1F3 4ND D34TH, 4ND, FUCK 1T, M4YB3 1’M S1CK 4ND T1R3D OF TH3 WHOL3 3NCRO4CH1NG MORT4L1TY TH1NG. YOU L3T M3 34T TH3S3, 4ND 1’LL HUMOR YOU.” 

“Alright,”  Rose said,  “but let’s make it interesting. Every piece you take – you get to eat.” 

A pause lasted between them as Terezi raised an eyebrow.

“Only if you beat me, of course.” 

“YOU H4V3 4 V3RY MORB1D S3NS3 OF HUMOR, L4LOND3,”  the Troll said, accusatory.

Rose shrugged. She wasn’t about to deprive Terezi without reason but to instill in her a sense of competitive nature wouldn’t hurt. In a way, even – Rose thought – that what Terezi needed was someone to help her. She was lost, barely ate, and disappeared from her sight for days at a time. The troll would be practically docile if it wasn’t for her few spouts of wit. That was something Rose deeply empathized with. She had been the same before Dirk had found her. Keeping her around, finding truth in her woes, wouldn’t that be as much a purpose to work for as her own significance in their journey? Rose was determined to get through to Terezi before Dirk could. She needed to know whether there was a better option for them, whether the questions she had about her relative did, in fact, need to be looked into further.

Terezi rolled her eyes,  “WH4T’S STOPP1NG M3 FROM JUST T4K1NG WH4T 1 W4NT 4ND L34V1NG?” 

“You tell me, you could’ve been there and done that without saying a word.” 

“1 DON’T TRUST YOU. YOU’R3 R4GG3DY, ST1FF 4ND FUCK3D OFF 1NTO SP4C3. NOBODY DO3S TH4T B3C4US3 TH3Y’R3 M3NT4LLY ST4BL3.” 

“If that’s what you intuit, I suppose I can’t fault you for being cautious.” 

“SUR3… L3T’S PL4Y YOUR G4M3.” 

Rose dropped her train of thought for now and nodded before clearing her throat.

She went through everything succinctly. It wouldn’t do her opponent justice to skimp on the rules when she had so voluntarily accepted to participate. Terezi already knew of the game's significance. Even if it wasn't an Alternian pass-time, chess was the building block of their session as much as hers. The carapace bodies of the two moons of Skaia had this same semblance, the pieces garish mutations much like the ones they had formed themselves almost a decade ago. The sprites giving each inhabitant their own unique attributes. Well, these were her's.

Eventually, though, Rose couldn’t help but resume her scrutiny. It was an addiction hard to let go of.

Terezi was tough. She had to be after going through their shared history. An occasional flirt and mischief-maker with her past pester brigade over John and Dave. It was an intriguing veil for her competitive kinship with Vriska. She was just, pragmatic and, Rose found herself admitting, responsible for saving her life during the retcon of their world. Terezi had her own stakes and promises, stubbornness and faults. Rose knew she couldn’t just put that bias aside when taking her in as a pseudo-ward. It wouldn’t make her therapy as altruistic as she’d wanted to, but Rose knew to account for that when dealing with past bonds.

Under that surface hid a much more powerful relegation of skills. From her relation to Sburb, Terezi was a Seer of Mind. She had the cunning fortitude to locate and ascertain the intermingled collection of interspersed memories, thoughts, methods, and even the reasoning of fellow individuals. Doubtless, Terezi already knew Rose's own intentions with her, if not her entire train of thought to a fault.

Still, Terezi was nowhere near her ultimate self. If Rose was to battle her, to help her, with her mind under absolute scrutiny, their chances of victory converged much closer to a tie. Terezi had just given Rose what she had wanted all along. A clinical game of skill and prowess with little to no abstractions. A goal to reach and the method to do so, hidden in the moves, tactics, and counters analogous to the game.

“Then in the 15th century the initial double pawn move was introduced,”  Rose continued, placing her black queen's pawn two squares ahead,  “which quickly hastened the pace, leading into the beginning of modern openings. However, this meant that the piece could essentially ‘run past’ an enemy pawn on the 4th or 5th file without encountering the diagonal attack. Much the same way the king can’t castle if its trajectory is threatened, the en passant capture was added, giving the opponent a one-turn opportunity to take the pawn on the square it passed over.” 

“4 HUH,”  Terezi added, tipping her king piece from one side to the other.

“YOU C4N SK1P TH3 T1M3L1N3. 1 D1DN’T COM3 H3R3 TO G3T C4UGHT UP 1N YOUR BOR1NG D34D TR1V14 F3T1SH,”  Terezi said.

Then, with a loud clack, her own pawn moved forward.

===> Rose: Just let the game begin already.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the game begin already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my boy Mikhail Tal - the magician of Riga - and his tutor Alexander Koblenz for providing the source of the moves themselves.
> 
> Finally, the special-est thanks to YOU, dear reader, for coming this far against all odds i.e. my nightmare of a piece of prose.

With a forlorn but stout expression, the white king's pawn peered at the open ridge of rows and columns before it. A soldier too eager in the nerves to heed its commander's call, running headlong with a spear raised against an army dwarfing its meager capabilities. Or was it a queen in the making, forthright in its courage, destined to lead its merry comrades into battle? It was up to Terezi to decide. She had spurred it, the tenacity of the move: a statement.

Rose enveloped herself in the game. She looked upon it from the vantage point of the black king himself. Eyes ready, vulnerabilities in the structure refreshed after every permutation.

Would that these moves show her the future beholden to her own reality in the making. And what of the casualties, the secrets, and inaccuracies within it? A vassal of space and time, how would she justify this exposed stratum of possibilities to her pieces, playing the inhabitants of her new world order for her own goals, invisible to them?

She could see it. Many years away, millennia. After her loss of personality - her grounding mortal folly - where time began a new cycle for her own offspring. A faithful day in an ordinary village. A lone Pawn adventurer making their way to the furthest ring, amassing great magyks on their journey for truth - the prospect of becoming a queen themself. They unveil the darkened corners of Rose's ancient creation, searching for the deepest secrets of their universe. Dusting for clues and evading horror terrors of worlds past, they find nothing but a broken woman, once, long ago, responsible for ridding the world of the unjust practice of her elders. Bringing about reality itself.

But here she stores her secrets, hidden so that no creature could ever ascertain their significance; the corrupt underbelly seeping life, sustaining itself for her own personal vices. Her own weakness tied down and sunken away for none to find. Herself the same pawn under Dirk's iron fist, forgotten. A jaded, heartbroken woman too inhuman to make amends and return to her own mortal calling. Her subconscious maelstrom of emotions tainting the precise cogs made to lead this universe as an example for others. Kanaya.

What precedent would her own mind show if it was too cloudy to truly impose an irrefutable character of will? Being a god was more than her powers, it spoke to her as a conviction. With her thoughts trailing back in the bitter betrayal of her friends, Rose's future looked grim. She was no god, and the Pawn seeing her then, in the future, basked at the sheer joke formed in the chaos of her failure.

It wasn't a true vision of reality, yet it could be. She could take all this baggage and have it be siphoned, unbeknownst to her, into a world she would try so hard to hold pure. It was a brutal thought to fight against.

"What do you think of our journey so far?"  Rose asked her opponent. Her speech was absent from the room it echoed through. Her eyes affixed to the board, yet she could still feel the troll's thoughts deciphering their clever wooden dance of pieces.

"BOR1NG, UN3V3NTFUL. F1LL3D W1TH 4NNOY1NG, MYOP1C D3M1URG3 W4NN4B3S,"  she said, blurting out every word as if it came with a toothache.

Sicilian defense, open, advance the minor pieces, begin the war.

Two pawns laid to rest; the blood spilled. Not over the queen this time but sinking off at the precipice of the ledge of the known world: the coffee table. If her weakness revealed itself through the callous death of her subjects, Rose was inadvertently leading her pawns to her own demise. The furthest ring of the table, where she stood abashed by Terezi's skilled opening, undoubtedly plucked from her own mind and used against her. The light pieces always had the beginning advantage, which made her losses more of a risk than Terezi's.

"About our plans for the future, I mean,"  Rose elaborated,  “going against the will of Skaia, forming our own reality through our cognitive foresight and ectobiology.” 

“1 L1T3R4LLY COULDN’T C4R3 L3SS,”  Terezi said, moving her queen’s bishop to strike at Rose’s knight.

“1T’S B33N 4 LONG-R3V3R3D PR4CT1C3 WH3R3 1’M FROM,”  she continued,  “4 F4N4T1C4L PURPL3 L4DY C4R33NS THROUGH TH3 COSMOS CONQU3R1NG WORLDS 1N TH3 N4M3 OF C1V1L1Z4T1ON. YOU M1GHT NOT H4V3 TH3 S4M3 4PP3T1T3 FOR D34TH 4ND C4RN4G3 BUT TH3 S3NT1M3NT’S TH3R3. G3T 4 LO4D OF ROS3 L4LOND3, H3R 1MP3R1OUS COND3SC3NS1ON, MOON1NG H3R 1MMORT4L 4SS 4CROSS SP4C3 4ND T1M3 4ND L34V1NG H3R W4CK PL4N3T OF LOS3RS B3H1ND TO F3ND FOR TH3MS3LV3S UNT1L N33D3D.” 

“What we’re doing is obviously different. We’re not conquering anything – we’re building something wholly new, Terezi. Life, not death. A utopic experiment, a bastion of justice. Isn’t that something you’ve lauded before?”  she said, momentarily coming out of the game.

Terezi didn’t answer. She continued vexingly,  “YOU KNOW WH4T’S FUNNY? 4FT3R 4LL TH3S3 Y34RS OF HOP1NG TO R1D MYS3LF OF 4LT3RN14N POL1T1CS, CHOOS1NG R34LLY H4RD TO TRY FOR 4 B3TT3R 4LT3RN4T1V3, 1 ST1LL F1ND MYS3LF FLY1NG FOR TH3 3MP1R3, SH1T-W3DG3D DOWN 1N TH3 CRUSTY UND3RB3LLY OF TWO Y4HOO’S FOR WHOM NOTH1NG, NOTH1NG 1S 3V3R GOOD 3NOUGH.” 

“Was this good enough for you? You deliberately set yourself aside from a world you yourself tried so desperately to create. It didn’t seem good enough for you, so why would it me? While I appreciate the antagonistic simile, this has nothing to do with her, and you know it. I’m not repeating the morally corrupt subjugation of a world of people. I’m merely trying to-” 

“-TRY1NG TO 3SC4P3 1T. Y34H. 4 LOT OF GOOD TH4T H4S DON3 FOR US,”  the troll concluded.

A silence befell them. Rose could feel Terezi’s tendrils latching on to her mind, addressing her own notions before they escaped through the Light Seer’s throat. If she were in her ultimate form, Terezi might even be able to hold up a conversation in the mind alone. Rose shuddered at the thought. The troll girl enacting their exchange in the mind’s eye itself, leaving her a mere brain ghost, trapped and eternally bound to an imagined existence. Existentialisms like that might have scared Rose in the past, but it was clear to her now that her ultimate existence materialized regardless of where it was kept.

Rose sought to correct herself,  “Change it, then. Overwhelm it with a better alternative, force reality to see what a just world looks like.” 

“SPOK3N L1K3 4 TRU3 3MPR3SS,”  Terezi chided.

Rose grimaced at that as if the thought were already beneath them.

The teal blood cackled and she let out a long sigh at Rose’s expense,  ”H3H3H3H3H, 1S TH4T TH3 HUM4N 3QU1V4L3NT OF 1MM3NS3 D1S4PPROV4L 4FT3R B31NG COMP4R3D TO 4 G3NOC1D4L R34G3NT OR 1S TH4T YOUR F4C3 WH3N YOU’R3 HUNGRY? 1 C4N N3V3R T3LL.” 

The conversation stalled. It wasn’t going to lead anywhere under this topic, so Rose dug for new wedges to enter Terezi’s world through. She was still the young troll hiding underneath the gruff battered exterior. A damaged life with empty hopes in Paradox space had hardened her shell, but it still cracked if pried with the right instrument.

Their initial strife concluded, the two blades feeling one another in the battlefield, testing their reach, they castled their kings for defense.

The kings. The passive set of units. The meta piece, the timetable - they’re the signifier for their own inevitable doom halved. For what is a game if not for its own process. Its function meaningless after the resolution.

In her critical mind over Sburb’s etymological manufacturing: the king was a Muse of Time. Rose knew those weren’t real words, a gendered concept from the mind of a being far from her reach, but it would be hypocritical to detach her own self, a being of Sburb in the purest form possible – her ultimate self. To rid that would be to rid her own identity. In the back of her head, as far as the idea would go yet still be reached by her conscious mind, her own loss was needed, her own weaknesses quenched from this new, better world. What did that say about her? She felt like an inevitable doom was upon them, their demise quickly revealing itself as the ultimate sacrifice for truth.

Rose had thought herself good with paradoxes, but this one put pressure on her own faculties and threatened to loose her seams, drawn and quartered.

The kings looked at one another in their opposite corners of the battlefield.

Terezi peered at her. They linked eyes for a brief moment. Rose saw their glazed reflection of her, the red speckled glow of her purple livery. She saw herself in Terezi’s eyes and knew that the troll girl was watching her mind collapse there and then. What the troll didn’t know was that Rose had been through this countless times before. Her alienation from all things preordained – the rules of Sburb, the impossibility of their tasks, her love of a woman she would never see again – Rose was a master of the improbable, and she would not come undone because of it. She knew now that her sacrifice meant a future for all pawns. If she died to set them free of this cursed board, she would die content. That was the game.

“HOLY FUCK YOU’R3 D3PR3SS1NG TO L1ST3N TO,”  Terezi broke the silence of Rose’s thoughts. Was she reacting to the old conversation or her inner monologue - Rose wasn’t sure - but in either case, she got her to talk again.

Pity. Had Rose really stooped that low? That wasn’t a godly trait, but perhaps her choice to move through her faults directly bore the fruit she needed to continue. That was the queen. The active piece. The Lord of Space, moving in any direction she chose, taking charge of all the area given her, be it pity or conviction. The piece Terezi chose to emulate with her own blood. The troll undoubtedly operated through that lens of direction.

“Grim as though our situation is, it’s not depression that leads me. If we are to succeed in what our journey in Theseus is leading up to, our minds have to come to grips with the trauma that preceded our growth,”  Rose retorted. It was refreshing to embody her youthful prominence in therapeutic insight.

Terezi opened up her queen for an attack. Spurred by the Seer’s game-plan, Rose did the same, leveling the conflict on even terms.

“F4T CH4NC3, 4R3 YOU K1DD1NG M3? YOU’R3 L1T3R4LLY TH3 3MBOD1M3NT OF R3PR3SS3D,”  Terezi said incredulously,  “S1TT1NG STOOP3D OV3R YOUR MORB1D R3CT4NGL3, F4NT4S1Z1NG OV3R L1TTL3 WOOD P13C3S L1K3 4 B1G D3N14L ORGY OF HOW FUCK3D YOUR PL4N 1S.” 

“Would you rather I do nothing? Frolic in the meadows of Earth C until I become a petulant Lilac bloom, making merry with my friends as if we weren’t given a responsibility surpassing that of any ordinary concept of deity?”  Rose answered in the same tone. She quickly regretted that, however. Terezi knew how to get under her skin, and she didn’t enjoy the feeling. It reminded her of Dirk.

“WO4H, WO4H TH3R3, 1 D1DN’T 1MPLY 4NY FLOW3RY COMP4R1SONS TO 4N 4CTU4L, US3FUL P13C3 OF HUM4N FOL14G3. TH4T’D B3 B3N34TH YOU, OH GODL3SS OMN1POT3NT V1RTU3 QU33N,”  she said.

“OH, BUT W41T, NO, YOU DON’T S33 YOURS3LF L1K3 TH4T, DO YOU? H34R TH4T?”  she paused dramatically, their moves swirled into a flurry of heated back-and-forths,  “TH4T’S TH3 R34L1Z4T1ON TH4T YOU 4R3, 1N F4CT, JUST 4 SP1NDLY PURPL3 L1TTL3 SHRUBB3RY TH4T TH1NKS PL4Y1NG 4T GOD M4K3S H3R V1ND1C4T3D FROM B31NG 4N 4BSOLUT3 SH1T4SS L1K3 TH3 R3ST OF US.” 

Pawn now at her King’s throat, goading her attack at the would-be assailant.

Rose sighed.

“I’m not rebuking my own faults because of a god-complex,”  Rose looked at her, holding her emotions rigid,  “What made you float in space for so long, knowing that the chances for you to find Vriska were slim to none? Can’t you see that your accusations are as much a derision of my character as you beating yourself up for your own failures? I’m not playing for denial. I see a single light of a chance and I won’t let it pass just because it’s nearly impossible.” 

“YOU R3M1ND M3 OF H3R, YOU KNOW,”  Terezi said, a solemnness to her voice,  “CH4S1NG TH3 1MPOSS1BL3 L1K3 1T W4S JUST 4 CH4LL3NG3 OF B3L13V1NG 1N 1T H4RD 3NOUGH.” 

Pawn takes pawn. Another casualty. There it was: the heart of it all. Rose had to pull those feelings out of her.

“And you follow her, sharing her cast at fortune by proxy. You’re the same as Vriska,”  she said.

“YOU DON’T G3T TO S4Y TH4T TO M3,”  Terezi mouthed. A threat in her voice, teeth grating, her fist pressing around a black pawn.

“YOU DO NOT...” 

“...G3T TO...” 

“...FUCK1NG...” 

“...S4Y THOS3 WORDS TO M3 4ND L34V3!”  each line climbing higher in anger.

In those wide eyes of passion, lost in anger not specifically directed at her, Rose noticed a quick glimmer of a reflection. Something behind her moved like a shadow. An orange one. Terezi had seen it, and her anger quickly turned into a guttural chuckle. Rose felt a cold shiver go down her spine at the thought of her ectobiological relative. She couldn’t believe all of this progress in their conversation would be shut down by that bastard of a megalomaniac butting in on her plans.

“H4H4H4H4H4H4,”  the troll broke into a more lighthearted laugh,  “H3H3H3H3H, 1 S33 1T NOW.” 

“YOU’LL GO OUT OF YOUR W4Y JUST TO S33 LORDS TOPPL3D 1NST34D OF B31NG CONT3NT 3NOUGH TO L3T TH3M FUCK OFF. YOU’R3 TOO SC4R3D TH4T H3’LL T4K3 WH4T YOU H4V3 4W4Y OTH3RW1S3,”  she said.

Rose felt her eyes water. She hadn’t thought that Terezi’s outburst would put her in such unease, but the troll’s now open wound hurt to look at more than the Seer had anticipated. She wiped her eyes with the bottoms of her palms.

“Ok, maybe let’s not break the fucking Bechtel test dying on this hill, alright?”  she said, feeling genuinely vulnerable at the release of some of her own pent-up tension,  ”Your move, Pyrope.” 

Terezi grinned, her teeth blaring their sharp jags. The game was nowhere near over. It had just about only started but Rose felt her own game with Terezi moving in leaps and bounds. They were alike in many ways, perhaps too much for her to act as the nudging wallflower she’d been used to during therapy sessions with Dave. They were coming to terms with one another. Even if Terezi stood on the opposite end of her own convictions, they shared a dual bond from events past, and that had to mean something.

In the dark corners of the furthest ring, somewhere beyond the coffee table, Dirk watched them, imposing his character on the nerves of the two Seers.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the bout, Rose is put up against the back corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue this work, ardently lapping up the keystrokes that feed me oh so well. I'm learning to hate photoshop yet I do this out of love for the characters, and, of course, as always, You.
> 
> follow https://twitter.com/johnlazda for chapter updates and pics of my dogs sometimes.

The rank and file in the corner, an unobstructed rook, the implosion of her full defenses from a simple pawn sacrifice. Playing gambits, maintaining a position under the expense of her units. That wasn’t in Rose’s head, it was Terezi’s own manipulation. 

Opposite sides battling, the one who ran and the one who stayed. If Rose were to beat Terezi in this game, she would have to be faster than her, move through the white king’s side and launch an equal counter-attack. Would that she could, but her own side was completely open. Terezi had practically forced her way there, and all attention laid on that one, naked, streaking rook. 

How could she be faster if Terezi had already caught up? Shipped off onto Theseus and bid her time under unscrupulous intentions? Forcing her memories on her, her race not to mention that look of utter betrayal when she spoke her lover’s name. Kanaya. No, it was Vriska whom Rose supposedly emulated. The thief of broken hearts for the sake of her own drive. Had this already been done? Had her mind, the only one she could ever trust, been wrong enough to release this teal bloodhound for yet another execution? It felt like that now. It felt like a coin had been flipped and she was left fending off this past mirage of her failed, oh, so green and jaded – in the color sense – partner’s reflection on the one side, and a jaded – the dulled apathetic sense – at the back of her spine, raising an intuitive alarm on the other. 

Dirk knew her potential more than she thought herself at times. He could have found the breaking point, her need to return back and become an obstacle. If he were to have gotten ahead of Terezi first, indoctrinating her into the game they played now, uniting in the conviction that Rose had already failed unto their goal, what then? They were playing her for a fool, watching her squirm from her own imperfections as they released the final coup de grace. 

Rose went for a piece but quickly changed her mind to another. She was being paranoid. Rose took in a deep breath, and for a moment she saw her own tangled mess of emotions for what they were. Another game. She had to treat it as such, or else succumb to that breaking point. 

Terezi looked nervous herself. Not the still fibers of the tension of a pouncing predator but a relaxed, ready-for-anything scope of the situation. This game had lead Rose to doubt her own perception to an extent that put her off guard. The mind player worked her tricks, yet in nowhere near the same malfeasance as the prince. Dirk didn’t play his true intentions in the light. They both twisted words but Terezi was blunter. She didn’t care if her attack opened herself to a counter. She trusted that her quick decisions forced the enemy to concede a larger part of the sum. She knew how to weigh the risks, how to balance the odds. Dirk - much like Rose - guarded their own with broken fangs, not letting a drop of it sway the war to a lower state of discourse. It was a battle between Prospit and Derse in all its character. Terezi was the cornered creature, the victim, not her. Why did Rose feel so hopeless, then? 

She shook her head, clearing her mind. The heavy state of her thoughts still stayed there, waiting for her to relax. This paranoia didn’t come from Rose, that was clear. It came from the troll yet it was too real to have been an instilled false perception. It resided in the back of her head, in the same space her weaknesses fought for relevance. Terezi had opened her up with a fine scalpel and pushed those thoughts to the front. In the same place, she saw now, where Dirk had been hiding all along. She wasn’t doubting herself. She was doubting his influence on her – she thought angrily – that had worked too well to be dismissed. 

“Righto, Rosebud, pressing the breaks yet or am I really gonna have to saunter in?”  Dirk said. 

Rose’s forehead creased. She heard the voice clearly in her head, escaping the need for her audial periphery. Terezi didn’t react, moving her pieces forward, and limiting Rose’s space on the battlefield even further. 

“Have we resorted to furtive head-games now?” 

“You can always count on me to appreciate a good pun. Practically stoked at the fact that you’re using ‘head games’ as both a literal state of my being in yours, as well as a coy nod to chess being the focal point of today’s parent-child discussion at the fireplace armchair.” 

“I was more nodding to the fact that you’re always so eager to ratify my thoughts with, ahem, ‘games’ in which you try to derive a simple point into Freudian slips that I’ve somehow subconsciously come up with for your pleasure.” 

She resigned to ignore him, focusing instead on the game. Terezi waited for her turn to finish, minding her own side with keen reflection. She played with Rose’s pawns, weighing them, using them as a fidget. 

“Oof, she’s really going at you, isn’t she. Foaming at the mouth all toothy and rabid. I’d call her a shark but rabies inhibit swimming motor skills. Regardless, here are some quick maths: you’ve got six pawns to her four. Really getting wet-eyed and bothered for having a point advantage?” 

“‘Wet’ and bothered? Wow, laying it on thick with the implications today, I see.” 

“Rose I’ll be real with you, I’m dissapointed.” 

“Ah.” 

“No, no, hear me out, you think I’m tryin’ to roleplay some abusive mother figure, tensing up when I walk past that door, lookin' at me like I’m about to burst in, a glass of martini in hand yellin’ about all the many grandchildren I’m never gonna get if you don’t stop writing all those fanned bearded men fictions. Entirely too brash of me and going, really, against my whole point.” 

“Being?” 

“The point being that while I’m all for some sports and the like, you’re not gonna get any progress with your little pet project, as fun as an experiment it might be. This has nothing to do with taking away your playthings for the principle of some made-up hierarchy between us. As a concerned crewmate i.e. exhibiting the appropriate amount of non-maternal kinship, I suggest you let the sleeping dog lie and not have her trigger an outburst with us having to go and Old Yeller her by the ship shed. The shed we have at this ship conveniently far enough for our space neighbors not to see the gruesome act.” 

“I don’t see you being in the right headspace to stop me.” 

“Again, I applaud your consistency with the bit, but as in all things detrimental to our mission, I’m afraid I’ll be taking the head of this situation. The proverbial Gundam head of our unified ultimate presence here. The narrator, as it were.” 

“Oh, great. Let me guess. Resistance is futile, my actions are meaningless and I’m about to be carted away as an analogous pawn in the wind?” 

“Charming, but no. Your actions are yours alone. I’d be a tyrant to limit your own will but the narrative playing around it, the metaphorical battle you’ve got cookin’. Well, it’s not really the jive I’m tryin’ for vis a vis our current stance on crewmate politics.” 

“Not to act naive, but wouldn’t framing my own thoughts in a way that goes against their intended meaning take away from the quality of my actions, thereby completely destroying the logical train of thought I’d need to further manifest my own will onto reality? Aka my entire relevance in the story? Is that what you want of me, Dirk? To have my entire essence be shifted into something you’d find… appealing to your own made-up concept of narrative?” 

“A lesser man would totally take that as a solid appeal to emotion, Rose, but fortunatelly for both of us, I happen to be an excellent writer.” 

“Tsk.” 

Abashed by the concept of her own stigmata being manufactured through my prose, Rose was, nevertheless, better off riding the winds of my helpful and incredibly straight-laced thoughts permeating through the room like a misted shield of an outburst-free, steady rhythm of non-confrontational intrigue. Everyone slouched their shoulders in a unison of relaxed sighs. This was a fact. The game was absolutely rocking its climactic struggle apparent to even the laziest of chess aficionados. 

What are we looking at here? Truly a battle for the ages. The pieces seem to be, yes – the seem to be standing there, on the board – a rambunctious bunch of fellers. The action maintains itself in the black corner. Rose has the troll right where she wants her. A cornered king is entitled to eschew his conviction for a brief reprieve in dubious animosity. Part of the sport is the passion, for god’s sake. We’re not admonishing the player for showing a little bit of that sparkle that gets their second act flowing for the last home stretch. 

Being a sports announcer really does make this a lot more pipe-lined, don’t you think? Keeps the gears churning, the moves clear. Doesn’t take a god to understand that the true nature of sport stays in, well, the sport of it. No need for a hefty personification of your allegorical struggle seeking false equivalencies in the board state every darn time a pawn is captured. I mean, c’mon, Rose. That’s why this shit’s so crusted with bellicose grime to begin with. All tangled up in self-reflective echo-chambers of doubt and deceit. 

Demonizing some forgotten troll as if her mind powers somehow prompt your own lawn-mover fishing line to churn with every pull, coming closer to that point of inertia for the motor to get going. Truth is the lawn’s full of rocks idly minding their time until, like a ripened coconut, one finds its way straight to your noggin’ ripping a fat “whack” and jostling about your gray matter. Thankfully, that same rock actually hit the right indent to fly me in the driver’s seat. Two purple eyes just beggin’ to be looked through like I’m a fucking human submarine up in here, joystick in hand. 

Alright, what’ve we got here; the other contestant. Yea, the enigmatic troll girl. My bad, let’s do a quick check-up. On the white corner – pause for import - it’s Terezi Pyrope! 

“YO,”  the salaciously yet apathetically indignant troll girl… thought. 

Ah, yes, the aformentioned mind powers at play here. 

“YOU M4K3 4N 4BSOLUT3LY D1SGUST1NG 4USP1ST1C3,”  she intoned thinkingly. 

“Chill, I’m piecing out on the mating ritual scene. It didn’t really work well in the last chapter. Remember the good old days when you came here lurching your malnourished claws for a bite of some chess pieces? Those were simpler times. That idea kind of slipped the story and I’m about to bring it back fully served. What about the blood on the queen? Chekov’s gun much, or was that just a symbolic initiation into the chess-to-life ratio drama?” 

This is why I had to trip the curtains, slide in and fix up the action. Try reading Rose’s inner monologue and you’ll see a bunch of loose ends hopefully thatched into some abstract concept barely holding the thread of prop relevance. 

There we go. Now that’s what I call a glow-up. Wild card coming through. Shit’s about to get right interesting. I’d venture Rose would call this a Queen to Prince gambit, spearheading the pawn-to-queen transition into a debaucherous afront to old customs of play. 

“D1D YOU R34LLY JUST FUCK1NG 1M4G3 TR4C3 YOUR N4STY 3Y3-POK3RS ON MY QU33N?” 

“WH4T TH3 FUCK 1S WRONG W1TH YOU DUD3?” 

Look at me, I’m the queen now. 

“Suppose there’s no point in humoring these antics. As far as the game’s concerned, external environments have left this board in dismal conditions. We’ll resolve this another time, Terezi,”  Rose said, breaking the silence. 

“NO, L3T’S CONT1NU3,”  Terezi said. 

“That’s the spirit,” I finished. 

===> Dirk, Rose & Terezi: Strife!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, I look up at this piece of text flowing with orange, purple and teal, smelling like 2k words of dripping printer paint, my eyes hazed in the afterglow of orange irony - in this moment I am euphoric, not because of any phony god's blessing but of three god's trauma laden angst.


End file.
